Today's Timericks: Biden Says U.S. Would Intervene Militarily if China Invaded Taiwan (WSJ)

Biden Says U.S. Would Intervene Militarily if China Invaded Taiwan  (WSJ) 

Biden's talking tough again:

If China bothers Taiwan, then

we'll send in soldiers, bombs, and planes,

to give Beijing some growing pains.

And if, by chance, our troops go down,

we'll just invade ol' China Town!

 

 The Stock Market’s Drop Is Hitting Many 401(k)s Harder This Time

(WSJ)

My 401(k) is a mess;

I'll be on welfare soon, I guess.

If it keeps dropping like a stone

I'll have to live on just ozone.

Whoever's managing my fund

don't know the meaning of 'fecund.'

The Average Age of Vehicles on U.S. Roadways Hits a Record 12.2 Years

(WSJ)

My vehicle is old, like me;

the engine's slow and filled with ghee.

The tires are so bald they slide

like I am on a mountainside.

I keep it, not from loyalty,

but because of poverty!

Hello? Hello? Is This Facebook? Anybody There? (Nope.) Users with account problems go to extreme lengths to reach someone, anyone, for customer service; ‘I have never been able to speak to a human’

(WSJ)

I have lost my self control

as I deal with some black hole

on the phone to rectify

product issues gone awry.

How I wish those distant goons

were buried under rabid prunes.

The Baker's Gag at Ringling Brothers.

 I've been asked to regurgitate memories of my first ring gag with Ringling Brothers as a First of May back in 1972. Here goes:

The gag featured Swede Johnson, Dougie Ashton, Marc Anthony, Prince Paul, Lazlo Donnert, and myself.  We were in center ring.

I don't remember how or why I was included in such an august assemblage of zanies, but I felt it was an honor. What I do remember is that it got me out of having to do the Spanish Web number that immediately followed it. All the other clowns had to hold the ropes for the showgirls . . . 

Mark, Lazlo, Prince Paul, and myself were dressed as bakers. Swede was the groom and Dougie dressed in drag as the blushing bride, coming into the ring to pick up their wedding cake, as the band swung into "If I Knew Your Were Coming I'da Baked a Cake."

Mark had rigged up a marvelous stove that shot out flames whenever Swede positioned himself in front of it, roasting his keyster nicely.

After much slapstick business Dougie steals the cake, making a mad dash out of the ring. He trips and takes a header into the cake, which is made of foam rubber and filled with shaving cream. A tsunami of shaving cream from the cake engulfs us all. Blackout.

I have two distinct memories of that gag.

First, during a matinee in Denver I took a fall wrong during the gag and bruised my coccyx. I couldn't get back up and had to be carried out of the ring by Swede and Mark. I spent a week in bed recuperating. Thank goodness we belonged to AGVA back then -- because they paid all the hospital and doctor bills. I've had lower back trouble off and on ever since then.

Second, at the blow off Dougie liked to shove so much shaving cream into my face that my makeup was ruined. I'd have to hurry back to clown alley to wipe it off and put it back on again before the next clown number. I finally got tired of that, so the next time it happened I didn't put my own clown face back on -- I put on Dougie's. He was fit to be tied, and complained to Charlie Baumann, the Performance Director. But Charlie, with half a smile, said there was nothing he could do about it. After that, Dougie was careful to refrain from getting a single soap bubble on my makeup.

Those were days of magic for a young kid like me. Working with men touched by comic madness. How I'd love to strut into that center ring just one more time for a pie in the kisser!

Narrative Poem: The Red Apron Man.

 

The man in the red apron followed

me home from the thrift store.

He came right through my front

door after me.

"What do you want?" I asked him.

"I want to be loved and cared for"

he said simply.

His answer moved me intensely.

Because that's all I've ever wanted, too.

"Sit down and I'll feed you" I told him.

I brought him leftover chickpea salad 

and a hunk of buttered Irish soda bread.

Then he lay in front of the fireplace

and went to sleep.

I covered him with an old blanket.

Then sat in my recliner and began to think.

I was soon asleep as well.

When I woke up he was gone.

My silver ashtray was gone.

And the glass candy dish,

with Skittles in it. Gone.

Back at the thrift store they

didn't know where my red apron

man was. 

He lived on the street, they said.

He only worked there part-time,

on weekends. They said his name is

Rudy. But I call him my Red Apron Man.

I know he'll come back. He has to.

He left his red apron in my laundry hamper.

 

Today's Timericks: Skipping Breakfast. Crocs. Maleleuca Oil.

 

You must skip your breakfast meal

if real weight you want to peel.

So my doctor tells me thus.

I'm so hungry I could cuss!

Ham and eggs have gone the way

of Green Stamps and PTA. 

Must you wear a pair of socks

when you're in a pair of Crocs?

Summer's here, and socks are out.

Though I'm labeled as a lout

when at church I wear 'em bare;

I think it is debonair. 

Ev'yone with fervor boils

over some essential oils.

Melaleuca, cloves or myrrh,

they are guaranteed to cure

ev'rything from warts to flu --

welcome to the new voodoo!

 

Today's Timericks: What is ESG and why is Glenn Beck blaming high gas prices on it?

 

the social agenda of some

is making me look like a bum.

tho try as I might,

I lean to the right;

I'm boycotted like green pond scum.

 

 

From out the woodwork, crawling fast,

bill collectors unsurpassed

find so many subprime duds

it delights their grim taste buds.

Are you broke and deep in debt?

They're coming for you with a net.

Parents, don't go out tonight.

You're in for a terrible fright.

Your child, babysat,

by new caveat

will cost you more than chrysolite.

I clock in late and go on break,

the work piles up in stacks.

I take a little nappy-poo

and otherwise am lax.

I'm just a body here at work;

the boss would have to scramble

if she fired me today --

cuz hiring's a gamble!

Today's Timericks. Pork and Beans. Donald Trump.

 

the ads for burgers always show

meat with juiciness aglow.

french fries plump and crispy, too;

milk shakes thicker than most glue.

so I see on TV screens

as I sit home with pork & beans.

Covid moved in years ago

and can't be budged with a back hoe.

It's in our blood and in our lungs

and in our minds and on our tongues.

We cannot take it to the dump --

it's really just like Donald Trump!

 

 

Today's Timericks: Thrift Stores Raise Prices (WSJ)

 Today's Timericks:  Thrift Stores Raise Prices (WSJ)

I went into a thrifty store

to see about a cuspidor.

But prices for used mason jars

are higher than for pure gold bars.

It costs too much to save a buck --

again, the poor are out of luck!

Netflix Cuts About 150 Staffers in Another Round of Layoffs,

(WSJ)

Welcome to the world of work,

where a lay off soon will lurk.

Just when you are feeling safe,

you become a corporate waif.

Just stay at home and be a slacker;

you can work part-time as hacker!

 

 

New Federal Report Shows Two-Decade Surge in Gun Manufacturing

(WSJ) 

Making guns, you cannot lose

money -- just like making booze.

Ready markets always panting

for your stuff to fuel their ranting.

Immoral it may be to some;

you don't get rich with chewing gum!

 

 

 

@CharlesPassy there are free lunches at grubhub

if you can wade through the hub-bub.

I'd rather breakfast be for free;

I'd savor more each calorie.

But since my wishes count for naught

I'll daydream with some food for thought.

 

 

Luck, among other things.

 I haven't had a bit of luck since 1982;

and so I think my sinking ship must now be overdue.

 When at last it does arrive, with treasure loaded down --

I'll miss my step upon the pier and like enough I'll drown.

Bob Cummings was an actor rare;

he kept his figure and his hair.

In movies, radio, TV,

he was the perfect droll emcee.

The reason for this rhyming phlegm --

 he's on all night on TCM.

I wished upon a star one eve

about my upper-most pet peeve.

 That lying politicians fry

as cooks in any junior high.

Failing that, I'd be content

to see them barreled to ferment.

(or buried underneath cement.)

Narrative Poem: Just try and cancel your Washington Post subscription!

 

 

just try and cancel your

washington post subscription.

go on, I dare you.

I've tried. for two months.

and failed.

it makes a man whimper.

he feels lower than the dead sea.

Things started out happy 

between us.

But then I needed that ten

bucks a month to keep me

in bagels and cream cheese

when prices went up.

so I tried to call and email.

Bupkis.

so I went to my account settings today;

then to help;

then to frequently asked questions;

then help center;

then subscriptions;

then to cancel a digital subscription only;

then to chat.

the box said I am talking to 

Loreve.

she wrote 'please give me

a moment while I look up

your account.'

then she wrote (I'm assuming

Loreve is female, but who knows?)

"please send me your credit card transaction

code.'

so I did.

she found my account under an

old email address.

Huh.

so I'm paid up through June 6th.

and Loreve canceled it after that.

Huh.

guess I got nuthin' to complain

about after all.

dammit. that shoots this poem

all to hell . . .  

Narrative Poem: Bedbugs.

 I threw down the newspaper and chortled.

"Lookit this!" I said to the wife.

"Bedbugs infest posh New York City Hotels."

She didn't respond.

"All those rich people, itching and scratching"

I said in high glee. "Serves 'em right!"

She came over to me, grim-faced.

"Lookit this!" she said bitterly.

She had a squashed bug in her hand.

"I found it in our bed!"

"Is it . . . ?" I began.

"Yeah" she said. "It's a bedbug!"

"Oy vey!" I moaned. "Bedbugs here in

Muscatine Iowa!"

Just then the doorbell rang.

It was a special delivery letter

addressed to me. I ripped it open.

"Hey!" I said. "My Uncle Harry passed

away and left us forty million dollars!"

"Let's get out of this bug-infested burg!"

urged the wife.

So we did.

We burned every stick of furniture and every

bit of clothing and started over.

We moved to the Big Apple. New York City.

We bought a mansion on Fifth Avenue.

We had a Swedish mattress so expensive that

three security guards escorted it up into our

bedroom.

And it had bedbugs!

They bit us until we were scratching

our welts and bleeding on the expensive

furniture. Made of teakwood, most of it.

So we moved out. Sold the place at a loss.

Went to San Francisco. Found a townhouse

on a hill painted in pastels. 

Our new mattress was made of magnetic

fiberglass -- guaranteed to kill any and all

vermin.

But then CNN ran a series of reports saying

that magnetic fiberglass causes cancer.

And attracts bedbugs. 

We had the townhouse demolished.

We fled to Canberra in Australia to collect

heritage sheep fleeces.

It's a well-known fact that kangaroos

eat bedbugs, so they don't have very many

in the country.

That's when we discovered the joys

of hosting sheep lice.

So I divorced my first wife and married

a centipede. Our eggs are many. We

hide them in warm dark moist places.